Son of Satan
by Alyssa Tolensky
Summary: The origin of Otis B. Driftwood. From his first murder to returning back to the Firefly house before "House of 1000 Corpses". M for language
1. Chapter 1

It was December 23, 1942. He lived with his abusive and drunken mother and father in a run-down home in Wilmington, Delaware. He was born without a name, a family to care and provide for him. His parents, who both constantly had the scent of alcohol on their breath, beat him nearly everyday. All of the broken bones he could remember were not from hard labor or from his own curious make-believe adventures, but from his parents. He was beaten for being born, beaten for being different, beaten just because it seemed like good idea at the time.

Unlike most boys his age, he couldn't enjoy the warm sun outside, nor could he look at the light for too long. He thought he was cursed with his sensitive pale skin, nearly white hair, and bright blue eyes whereas his parents were dark haired and had dark eyes. For a long time he thought he was kidnapped by Thomas and Sissy, his supposed parents. However, every now and then, his parents would tell him that he was their burden, their own personal mistake. They were his biological parents, that he was perfectly sure.

He wasn't sure about who he was. He could even call himself Mr. Whatever-My-Parents'-Last-Names-Are, but he didn't even know that. All he knew was that his father's name was Thomas and he owned a shot gun, plenty of booze, and a wide collection of trucker hats. His mother's name was Sissy and she owned a shot gun, plenty of booze, and a wide variety of smokes. Those smokes that in fact could've taken her life several times, but for some reason, he took the lit cigarette out of her cheap, manicured hand while she slept on the nasty, yellow plaid couch. If that cigarette fell onto the couch, judging by the smell of the stupid thing, who knew how long it would take for the whole thing to burst into flames? A matter or seconds he assumed, again judging by the smell of the old broken thing.

But this afternoon wasn't just like any other. He sat up on his mattress bed on the floor and looked up lazily at the ripping pink curtains over the window, small beams peeking through and casting little designs on the sheets. He rubbed his irritated eyes and scratched his head. The boy stood up and walked into the bathroom across the hall. He turned on the faucet of the sink. After a second of gurgling, somewhat clean water ran out of the faucet. He put his hands under the water and splashed it into his face to wake himself up. He blindly searched around until he found a dry cloth and wiped away the beads dripping down his face. After drying his now clean face, he looked at himself in the dirty mirror.

"Well," the boy said to himself. "Happy birthday, kid." He shook his head and walked out to the kitchen where he could hear his father drunkenly yelling about something in the paper and his mother having another smoke. He grabbed an orange out of the bowl on the counter and plopped down at the table.

"Hey, you little shit!" His father barked. "All you ever fucking do is eat our food like it grows on trees!" he yelled.

"Oranges do grow on trees, stupid." the kid mumbled to himself. His father put down his paper and glared at him.

"What did you just say?!" he demanded.

"It's my birthday…" the kid replied. His mother exhaled a big puff of smoke, finishing her cigarette. She took the cigarette butt and placed it in front of the boy.

"Well, consider that butt and the orange your birthday gifts." His mother informed with a raspy voice as she pulled out a new cigarette out of her pocket. The boy rolled his eyes. Better than last year anyway, a dead goat was his gift last year. "Happy fucking 7th birthday, kid." She said lighting up.

"I'm 13, you old bitch." The kid replied. Suddenly, his mother's hand came across his face in one swift movement.

"Watch it, you fucker! If you talk to me like that again, I swear I'll fucking kick your sorry ass 'til next Tuesday!" his mother threatened. He didn't say anything, but stared down at his orange as he whittled away the peal to make the image of a fish. It seemed to be a talent of his. He loved to draw, and sculpt, and create works of art. On cloudy days, he would go out with a thin stick and draw in the dirt. He used whatever he could find lying around to make his visions and dreams come to life. He did like that about himself. Did his parents like that about him? It was their least favorite thing about their son.

They discouraged his artistic skills. They destroyed what he sculpted out of scrap metal and kicked the dirt to erase his dirt doodles. They never really noticed when he sculpted images in the skin or peel of fruit, though.

However, today was not like every other day. His father glanced over to see his son give a weak smile at the orange. He snatched it up out of his hand and examined the fruit to find the fish carving. He threw the orange right square in the boy's face.

"What the fuck is the matter with you, boy?" He yelled, grabbing a fist full of the boy's hair and making him scream in pain as he was pulled into the other room.

"Pa, please! I'm sorry!" he pleaded.

"Oh Pa, please! I'm sorry!" his father mimicked. "Fuck that sorry shit, you bitch!" he yelled, letting go of his hair forcefully. Just then his mother came in and leaned against the door frame, cigarette in hand. Before the boy could speak again, his father threw a punch right at his nose. There was a sickening crack and blood spewed from it. He screamed and held his nose, but more punches were thrown into his ribcage, face, and arms. His mother simply stood in the door way and laughed at her son's torture. Tears poured down the boy's face as he begged for mercy, but that mercy would not come.

One last punch was delivered, splitting his lip and sending the boy to the floor. He figured he should just lie there and take the rest of his abuse. Or he would just lie there until the grim reaper came for his soul. As he began being kicked in the ribs, the boy looked up and noticed the shot gun under the bed. This was his chance. As quickly as he could, he grabbed the gun, rolled onto his back and pointed it directly at his father's head. His father immediately stopped and put his hands up.

"Whoa! Now hold it there, boy." His father chuckled nervously as the boy slowly got onto his feet. "I'm…I'm your father, your Pa…" he defended. The boy shook his head.

"…You're not my father…Not any more." He whispered, pulling the trigger and blasting all sort of brain matter and blood all over the room. His mother screamed at the top of her lungs and dropped her cigarette. She knelt down beside her husband.

"Holy shit!" She screamed. "Thomas! Oh my God! Thomas!" she yelled shaking him as if that would bring life back into his seemingly dark empty eyes. The boy kept the gun pointed at her.

"On your feet!" the boy ordered. She did as she was told, putting her hands up.

"Son please!" she sobbed. "Don't do this." She begged. "I'm your own mother! You wouldn't murder your own mom, would you?" The boy shook his head to her, too.

"No. A mother is supposed to raise her child with protection, care, and pure love…All you've ever done was beat me, watch me get beaten at the hand of my own father and smoke your damn cigarettes!" the boy then moved the gun from her head to her heart. "I'm going to shoot you in the place you hurt me most."

"Um…wait! If you shoot your mother, in the Bible it says you go to Hell!" she warned. The boy smirked.

"I guess I'll see you later, then." BANG! The deed was done; the demons in his life were slain for good. He threw the gun onto their limp, lifeless bodies and left the room. He went to his room and threw the few shirts and pants he owned into a burlap bag. He tied up his boots and went outside.

It was slightly cloudy, but the sun still irritated his eyes. He didn't care. He wanted to leave. He didn't know where he would leave to; just anywhere but here. He began to walk along the cracking road. He got about fifty yards away from the house, and turned around for one last look. He looked ahead once more and, as tears began to fill his eyes, he broke into a run to get away from that horrible place.

He ran for at least two miles before stopping and looking back. The house was far out of sight by then. He shook his head and chuckled to himself.

"Happy fucking 13th birthday…Otis B. Driftwood." He smiled. For the first time in his life, he finally had an identity. He had to admit, it wasn't a very original name, but hey, he enjoyed the Marx Brothers. Why not?

So off he went to start his new life as Otis B. Driftwood.


	2. Chapter 2

After several hours of walking, Otis finally made it into town. It was simple. Not bright flashy lights or anything like that. It had the basics, some clothing stores, a general market, a barber shop with the classic striped pole, and a diner. Although it was only sunset and the stars just began to show themselves, all of the town's locals were already leaving and going home, quickly turning the quaint little town into a ghost town. It seemed like a ghost town with a couple of decorations for Christmas. As he walked, the shops began to lock up and turn out their lights. Otis watched his feet as he walked, stepping on any crack that came his way. He tried to think about how he was going to start living on his own.

He managed to ignore the fact that he had no place to sleep. That was an easy problem to solve. All he had to do was find a bench and use his bag as a pillow, simple. However, he couldn't ignore the fact that he had no money on him. When he began to pack his things back at the house, he knew he wouldn't be able to really find any money. His father had always hidden his cash somewhere and Otis just wanted to get the hell out of there. He didn't want to bother spending hours trying to find the money and just end up empty-handed by the time the police would arrive.

'I could beg for it.' He thought. 'It's fuckin' easy. All I got to do is sit on the sidewalk and look all fuckin' innocent. People like these buy that kind of crap.' Then again, it occurred to him that he would probably only get a couple cents a day. He glanced in the darkened window of the diner. The boy cupped his hands and peered in to get a better look, and looked up at the menu. Burgers were three dollars and seventy-five cents and most of the drinks, minus water, were two dollars. No way would being a bum manage to buy him meals. He stepped away from the window and continued walking.

'Maybe I could get a job.' Otis thought. He shook his head. 'Nah! I hate work. Besides, would they really hire someone like me?' They probably wouldn't hire him. Then the thought suddenly came to him.

'Why don't I just steal it?' He said smacking himself in the head. 'It's so obvious.' He reached into his pocket and pulled out his old pocket knife. He opened it and smiled at his reflection in the blade. That was his final decision. He would steal the money he needed, just to get himself started. Of course they would give him the money if he stuck his blade by their throat. However, if he did that, he couldn't come back into town without being noticed and probably arrested.

Otis looked over his shoulder at the sleeping town. He shrugged. After he got money out of this place, he could move on. There would be other places. Places with more excitement, entertainment, and more of a night life. He liked the simplicity of this small Delaware town, but he wouldn't mind more people and more lights.

Well, if he was set on moving on, there was no point in finding a bench to call his bed. Maybe just for tonight he would sleep on one, but then he would have to find a new place to sleep in the next town. That's what he needed, a map. Otis rolled his eyes as he took a seat on a nearby bench in front of an antique shop. He had way to much to do before he could really get started, it seemed.

Otis set down his bag at the end of the bench and rested his head on it. After several moments of trying to get comfortable, he glanced up at the twinkling stars over the top of the buildings and slowly shut his eyes. He smiled. He knew that he was truly free at last.

"Cock-a-doodle-do!" A rooster cried. Otis' eyes slowly opened to be greeted by the blinding sun. He hissed in pain of the sudden bright light in his eyes. It was morning and it was time to get to "work". He got up and stretched his arms out, yawning as he did so. He looked around as people walked around and cars slowly drove through. Some of the older folks gave him weird looks. By the looks of him, he looked like some kind of ghost. He didn't care.

He picked up his bag, flung it on his back, and started towards the general store. Seemed like a good place to get some money, food, and a map. As a customer was just walking out, leaving only the employee behind the counter, Otis casually walked in, his pocket knife closed and in his hand, ready for action.

Otis walked up to the counter and looked at the employee, apparently named Cindy. He would be threatening a female employee. That would definitely make things easier for him.

"Hi, there!" She greeted with a perfect smile as she flipped her long blonde hair out of her face. "Can I help you with something, little boy?" She kindly asked.

"Uh, yeah." He began with a calm voice. "I need a map, some of those there bags of fruit, and uh…all of the money you got in the drawers." He replied with a childish smile. Cindy laughed.

"You're so cute." She said sweetly. "But I'm afraid that I can't just give you the money and you have to buy the fruit. You can take the map, though. Those are free." She smiled as Otis came around the other side of the counter. The smile on Otis's face slowly melted away.

"Maybe you didn't hear me right." He said flipping open his knife and holding it up in plain view for her to see. "I said I need a map…some of that fruit…and all of your fuckin' money!" he yelled. Cindy immediately went from being perky and happy to being absolutely horrified. She was just about to open her mouth and call for help, but almost instantly, Otis pressed the knife by her throat. "The next thing you say had better be, 'Have a nice day' or your blood is going to cover the entire floor. Got me?!" he ordered. She nodded and quickly pulled out all the money from out of the cash register.

After she set all the money out, her hand began to travel to a hand gun under the counter, but Otis grabbed it first and held it to her head. "Nice try." He said calmly. "Now, get back to what you were doing or I'm blowing your brains out." Cindy did as she was told. She pulled a few bags of fruit off of the shelf and handed them to him along with all the money.

"Put everything into my bag for me, would you?" he asked. She swallowed and began slowly putting the items into his bag. "Move faster, Dollface. I would hate to ruin that pretty little face of yours." He threatened. She packed up the bag even faster. When she finished, he slung the bag back over his shoulder, the gun still pointed at her. He began backing up out the store, grabbing a map. It was then that he noticed the lighters. He grabbed a large red one.

"I'm taking this, too okay?" he asked. She nodded.

"H-have a nice day." She said fearfully as he exited.

"You too, Cindy, and thank you for your service." Otis said before breaking into a run out of the store. He looked over his shoulder as he ran and was surprised she didn't step out to call for help. That was all too easy. He just needed to get out of there fast.

Otis continued to run as fast as his legs could carry him until the town was completely out of his site. He stopped under a shady tree to catch his breath. The boy chuckled to himself and pulled out his map. He traced his finger from Wilmington to the next city, Elsmere, followed by Newport, Marshallton, and finally Newark before the map came to an end. He would have to get a new map in the city after Newark, wherever the next city was.

He thought about the matter at hand. What the hell was in Elsmere? He flipped through a small booklet that fell out of the map giving brief detail of each town in Delaware. He searched through it until he found Elsmere.

"A Wonderful Place to Live." It said. Otis rolled his eyes. "I'm sure." He said to himself as he read on. "Fun can be had for all in Elsmere. Beautiful parks and recreation can be found here." He looked at the picture of the town and saw a senior center.

"Great, a place old folks go to die." Otis sighed. "I guess it wouldn't be a bad place to celebrate Christmas. I could catch a bus and make it there before three." So he headed off and, after about half an hour, he finally found a bus stop and sat down on the ground. He opened up his bag and pulled out a large, red apple. He pulled out his knife and did what he does best, get creative. He tried recreating his fish from the day before. Each individual scale carved out almost duplicating his orange fish. When he finished, he smiled and licked his now sticky fingers from the dripping apple juice.

Otis put his knife away and took a bite of his masterpiece. Juice leaked down the sides of his mouth. It was the best thing he had eaten in a really long time. It was perfect, cool, crisp, and extremely juicy. After he had eaten it down the core, he threw it over his shoulder and pulled out another shining red apple. Instead of carving into this one, he just began eating it.

Just as he finished his second apple, the bus finally pulled up. "Elsmere," the black sign over the windshield read. It was definitely heading in the right direction. The bus doors creaked as they swung open for him. He climbed on, pulling out a couple of quarters and throwing them into the bin. The bus driver was a large woman with ratty black hair and a mole on her left cheek, who went by the name Helen, according to her nametag. She gave Otis a little smile as he took a seat near the door of the bus.

The door creaked shut and the bus began to roll toward town. Otis looked around the bus. It was empty besides the old, fat guy sleeping in the back with drool hanging from his mouth to his shirt.

"He's been on this bus since I picked him up in Delaware City." Helen said. Otis looked back at her.

"Huh?" he asked.

"George back there." She said. "He's been sittin' on this bus for well over an hour. I picked him up in Delaware." She explained.

"Oh." Otis glanced back at George who started softly snoring. "Where's he headed?" Otis asked. He didn't really care, but just couldn't stand the silence and Helen seemed like a nice person to talk to.

"I think he said somethin' about gettin' off at Marshallton." She replied.

"Actually, I'm going to be headed that way. I mean, I'm getting off at Elsmere first, but I'll eventually go to Marshallton." Otis said.

"Ya got family there or somethin'? Gonna go see your family for Christmas?" Helen asked.

"Uh, yeah. Well, I'm visiting my grandma at the senior center for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, but then I'm going to Marshallton to spend Christmas with the folks." He lied. He wasn't about to just tell some stranger he was traveling cross country after killing his parents.

"Aw, well, ain't that nice." Helen said. Otis pulled out the wad of cash from his bag. He hadn't actually stopped and counted it yet. He flipped through several twenties, tens, fives, and plenty of ones to make a total of $257 plus counting the change in his pocket, he had $262.53. He had plenty before he had to make another robbery. The boy glanced down at the locked gun in his bag. He looked up to make sure Helen wasn't watching before silently opening the gun and knocking out the bullets. It was fully loaded with six bullets. Perfect. He loaded the gun back up, put it back in the bag and just watched the trees go by out the window.

Around three o' clock, the bus came to a stop and the doors creaked open.

"Elsmere city." Helen announced. Otis flung his bag on his shoulder and got up to climb off the bus. "Have a good time with your grandma. I'll see you tomorrow, kid." Helen said. Otis turned around.

"What?"

"Well, yeah. I'm driving folks out of this town tomorrow, so I'll see ya." She explained.

"Alright. See you, Helen." Otis said stepping off the bus.

"Wait, what's your name, kid?" She asked. Otis smiled.

"It's Otis. Otis B. Driftwood." He replied.

"Alright, see you tomorrow, Otis." She said, closing the doors and driving away. Otis was really happy at that moment. He had waited for thirteen years to tell someone his name. That was one of the greatest feelings he had ever had.

So, Otis walked into the beautiful town. It was very green and surprisingly very alive. There were families all over the place. He supposed that this was more of a recreational tourist town more than anything. There _were_ a lot of elderly people, but not as many as there were children. There were several parks surrounding the town, all littered with children aging from three to twelve.

The town was absolutely covered in decorations for Christmas, from tinsel, to fake reindeer and strands of lights around the buildings. All around there were several patches of snow and ice, and they were even playing White Christmas on speakers throughout the town. This definitely seemed like _the_ best place to celebrate Christmas. Given, Otis never really got to celebrate a true Christmas. His Christmas consisted of a ficus with a few lights on it and maybe one gift. Usually his gift was something stupid, a shoe, a pair of socks, a cigarette butt or two, and a thorough beating. Although, on his eighth Christmas, he got his pocket knife.

Still, his first _real_ Christmas. He knew he had to do this thing right. He looked over at a store called, "Chris Cringle's". That looked promising. He pulled his coat tight around himself as made his way over into the store, the bell over the door greeting him.

"Welcome." Said an older woman from behind the counter. She had thin white-blonde hair, done up like a beehive, and wore a light pink sweater.

"Uh, hi." He said.

"Anything you're looking for in particular, young man?" she asked. Otis shook his head as he glanced around at the many little trinkets hanging throughout the shop.

"Well, my name is Marge." She said. "And if you need any help, you just ask." She smiled softly.

"Thanks." Otis replied, looking at their display of ornaments. "My name is Otis, by the way." He couldn't get enough of that.

"Nice to meet you, Otis." She said stepping out from behind the counter and bustling into another room. "I'll just be here in the back if you need something." She said. He nodded. There were so many little random knick-knacks all around the store. It seemed less of a Christmas store and more of a garage sale. There were rows of porcelain dolls, dollhouses, music boxes, Barbie dolls, old brushes and mirrors on one side of the store and the other seemed strictly Christmas; boxes of lights, hanging ornaments, snow village sets, and wrapping paper.

'Maybe I could stick around and have a Christmas dinner with Marge.' He thought. 'I don't want just bunch of fruit for dinner.' He thought pulling out a banana. He peeled it down and took a big bite as he continued to look around the store. 'I mean, she seems like a kind enough old broad.' That's true. Who would actually turn away a kid on Christmas Eve? 'She didn't seem like the kind of person that would do that.' He decided to ask her when she came back out.

Marge came out carrying a small white box. "Want a cookie?" she offered, setting the box down on a round wooden table. "I brought them from home this morning."

"Sure." Otis said walking over to the table taking a big, gooey chocolate chip cookie. He took a bite and it seemed to just melt in his mouth. Oh yeah, if she made these cookies, Otis was now convinced that dinner with her would be amazing. "Marge?" he asked after swallowing his bite of cookie.

"Yes, dear?"

"Would it trouble you much if I went home with you for Christmas Eve dinner?" Otis asked as politely as he could.

"Why aren't you having dinner with your parents?" she asked. Time to lie again. Well, sort of.

"Well," Otis began, "my parents died yesterday and I called my aunt if I could come live with her. So, I'm going to Marshallton tomorrow to go live with her. She was busy. You know, Christmas shopping for me and all." He said.

"Alright." Marge replied. "I would love to have you over." Otis was relieved. "You haven't lived until you've tried my chicken and dumpling soup." She said proudly.

'Considering I've never even heard of chicken and dumpling soup.' He thought to himself. Nonetheless, it was food, free food. For the whole rest of the day, Otis helped run the shop and told her his made-up life story as she told him her story. She was born and raised in Elsmere with her mother and father. She grew up in a strong Christian home and was home schooled until she was eighteen and opened up "Chris Cringle's" with help from her grandparents. Her life seemed pretty uneventful, but at least she was someone to talk to.

That evening, they locked up the shop and she took him back to her place where he had chicken and dumpling soup, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, and a big dessert of hot fudge sundaes. After they cleared the table, Marge handed Otis a red, wrapped box with a little white bow.

"What's this?" Otis asked as he looked curiously at the box.

"Oh, consider it a Christmas gift and my thanks for helping me around the store today." She replied. Otis carefully tore away the paper to reveal a simple paint set including a few brushes, the basic colors, white, black, purple, blue, green, yellow, orange, red, and brown, and a few small pieces of paper. "I remember you telling me that you liked art. So I figured you would like that." She said. He did like it. He loved his gift! Finally, he had something he could use to express his imaginary world. Tears formed in his eyes and he gave her a hug. She laughed and petted his head.

"Thank you so much." He said.

"You are quite welcome, Otis. Merry Christmas." She said.

"Merry Christmas." He replied. For the first time, he was sincerely wished a Merry Christmas. Things have really been looking up since he had freed himself from his parents.

Later, Marge flipped on the TV and both she and Otis watched "It's a Wonderful Life." Otis thought it was a crappy film, but it wasn't horribly boring.

"Look Daddy, every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings." the little girl on the TV stated, pointing to the little silver bell hanging on the family Christmas tree. Otis shook his head. He was getting tired from all the mush this movie was creating. So, before the credits had a chance to start, he stood up.

"Hey, Marge? Where can I sleep tonight?" he asked. Marge stood up from the couch and pulled out a blanket from under the table beside it.

"I'm afraid the only place I have for you is the couch." She said. "Is that alright?" she asked, feeling bad that this little boy had to sleep on the semi-lumpy couch.

'I'm sure it's better than a wooden bench.' He thought. "Oh yeah, that's fine with me." He replied, sitting down on the couch shedding off his coat. He laid down and got comfortable as Marge draped the blanket over him. She smoothed his long blonde hair before turning off the TV and turning out the light. "Goodnight, Otis."

"Goodnight, Marge. Thank you so much for all this." He said before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

The morning light poked through the floral curtains, making Otis open his eyes. He rubbed out the junk from them and stretched out his arms. He turned around and peered out the window. There was a lot more snow on the ground than yesterday. Shit. It was going to be even colder, then. He glanced at the clock. It was only seven am. But it felt like the right time to get moving. Otis stood up and walked into the kitchen popping a frozen waffle into the toaster. Finally it popped up and Otis took a bite. He munched on his waffle as he gathered his stuff and changed his shirt. He packed up his art supplies minus a slip of paper and a pencil and wrote Marge a note. He looked over beside the TV to see a woven chest.

Just being curious, he opened it up and found a variety of snow jackets, gloves, and hats. He looked up at the stairs that led to Marge's room. He really didn't want to steal from her, but he couldn't possibly stay warm in his thin denim coat. He sorted through the clothes and pulled out a dark red snow cap, black mittens, and a red and orange snow jacket. He slipped on the clothes. The jacket was a little baggy, but it would do. He slung his bag on his back and set the note down on the table beside the door as he left for the bus stop.

About fifteen minutes later, Marge came down the stairs expecting to see a sleeping little boy on the couch, but found the blanket moved aside and the boy was nowhere to be found. What she did find was a note that read:

Marge,

Thank you so much for all that you've done. I'm sorry that I left without a proper goodbye, but I figured that it was for the best. I'll never forget you and the kindness that you showed me. Have a Merry Christmas.

Otis B. Driftwood

By the time she found the note, he had already left and was settled on the bus heading for Marshallton.

"Hey, Helen. I got a call from my parents last night and there are actually waiting for me in Newark. Do you go that far?" Otis asked, wanting to avoid the stupid tourist trap that was Marshallton.

"That's as far as I'm actually allowed to go. Well, actually, I go as far as Elkton, Maryland." She replied. That's where he wanted to go.

"Oh!" Otis said, sounding shocked. "I just realized that they said Elkton, not Newark. I don't know where I got Newark."

She hesitated. "You sure?" she asked. "It's quite a long ways away. It's about four and a half hours." Otis nodded.

"I'm positive." He said. He could get off in Elkton and pick up a new map and figure out where he could go. Just for the hell of it, he flipped through his book to see what he would miss in Newark.

It seemed like it was just a boring town. It was just-in-the-middle-of-nowhere town. He needed to just get out of boring Delaware altogether. There was nothing left in this state for him anyways. As he looked out the window at the trees and the farm land going by, he pictured a beautiful white stallion galloping freely. The untamed stallion galloped all throughout the vast canvas of green grass and breezing trees. Almost instantly, Otis took out his paint set and painted his vision of the free horse on the paper.


	3. Chapter 3

Otis did end up reaching Maryland followed by Virginia, Tennessee, Mississippi, and Louisiana. It had been three months since he started his journey cross-country, stealing, threatening, and killing as he went to get what he needed. He painted every opportunity he got whether it was sitting at the next bus stop, sitting down somewhere to eat lunch, or on the bus on his way to the next location. However, just because he kept Marge's paint set didn't mean that he still didn't whittle with his food. Actually, every now and then, he would stop at an art supply store and get some new supplies such as pencils, more paper, charcoal, oil pastels, and a large assortment of markers and pens.

By the time he reached New Orleans, Louisiana, he had over $5000 in his wallet, new clothes, an old burlap bag full of art supplies, a knife, a gun, and a bounty quickly forming over his head for armed robbery and two counts of manslaughter. He was only 13 years old. On top of all that, he still wasn't sure where he was going.

The big metal bus came to a stop just outside the city of New Orleans on March 6th 1943. Otis quickly stowed his pencils and paper in his bag and headed for the open bus door.

"Hey, kid, you stayin' in New Orleans long?" the bus driver asked. Otis didn't really like talking to the bus drivers any more. With his reputation slowly taking form, he didn't trust these kinds of folks.

"I might. It's Ash Wednesday on the tenth, right?" Otis asked. He had read his new book and found that Mardi Gras was celebrated the day before Ash Wednesday.

"That's right. Mardi Gras starts tomorrow." He said with a wink and smile. His smile died as Otis stepped off the final step of the bus. "Hey, don't you think you're a little too young to appreciate Mardi Gras?" he asked. Otis ignored him. He didn't understand what he meant by that. He read that Mardi Gras was just a huge celebration with a parade and costumes.

_The terms "__**Mardi Gras**__" (mär`dē grä) and "__**Mardi Gras season**__", in __English__, refer to events of the __Carnival__ celebrations, ending on the day before __Ash Wednesday__. From the __French__ term "__Mardi Gras__" (literally "Fat Tuesday"), has come to mean the whole period of activity related to those events._

Again, Otis just understood that it was some kind of big party throughout the city. Anyway, he walked through the French Quarter as people began hanging up their last minute decorations on their balconies and outside their doors. As he walked down the cobble stone street, he got a few strange looks shot at him. He did stick out with his tearing jeans, brown boots, yellowing shirt, worn orange jacket, and his burlap bag. He just hoped that no one called the police on him. However, no one gave out any sign that they knew who he was. After walking for several minutes, he came across the place he was searching for; a small, yet quaint little hotel called the "Andrew Jackson Hotel". It was one of the best recommended hotels in his travel guide, and he had plenty of money to spend a few nights.

He walked in through the doors of the hotel and looked around to find the hotel decorated with an 18th century look. The woman behind the front desk looked up at the sound of the ringing bell above the door.

"Hi there." She said with a cheerful tone. "Can I help you?"

Otis smiled and walked over to the front desk. "Uh, yeah. I'd like a room please." Otis said politely. She nodded.

"I'm sorry, but I can give out rooms to children." She responded. Otis dug into his pocket and laid down a hundred on the counter, quirking an eyebrow. She slipped the bill into her own pocket and pulled out a pen.

"Sign the book, please." She said. Otis took the pen and was just about to sign under Otis Driftwood, when out of the corner of his eye he saw two cops walking down the street. Instant panic struck. He didn't want to give them a lead, so he had to come up with an alias fast. His mind flashed to another Marx Brothers film and it just came to him. He smiled and signed, "John Cheever". Problem solved. The woman handed him his room key and he swiftly went up the stairs.

When he got to the top of the stairs he heard the bell over the door ring again. It was the two cops. Otis spied on them from the landing as they made their way to the front desk.

"Scuse me, ma'am." Said the short and rather large police officer. "We're looking for a boy by the name of Otis B. Driftwood. Have you heard or seen him?" he asked.

"Do you have a picture of him?" she asked. The officer shook his head.

"Unfortunately, he's a difficult one to catch." He replied. "Carl, check the book to see if there's an Otis Driftwood signed in." Carl looked at the latest signature and shook his head.

"Sorry, sir." Carl informed.

"Alright, we'll continue to check around. Sorry to disturb you, ma'am." He said tipping his hat and making his leave.

'Yes!' Otis thought to himself as he headed for his room.

That evening was rather strange. Just as Otis crawled into bed and turned out the light, he suddenly heard giggling and kids running in the hallway. Otis rolled his eyes and tried going back to sleep. The giggling and the pounding of the kids feet grew louder and louder. Otis groaned and threw back the covers. He went to the door and opened his mouth to scream at them to shut up, but saw that no kids could be seen. He shook his head.

"Little mother fuckers' parents must have taken them back into the room. Thank God." Otis closed the door and crawled back in bed. He smiled as he buried himself in the feather comforter. His eyes shot open when he heard the kids running around again. "God dammit!" Otis screamed. He flew the door open again. "Shut the fuck up, you little assholes!" He screamed. Again, there was no sign of children any where. "What the hell?" he asked himself.

Suddenly, he heard the same children outside in the courtyard. He walked over to the window and peeked out through the curtains to look down into the courtyard. He could clearly hear the kids laughing and running around, but they were no where to be seen. He shook his head and went back to bed to try to get some sleep. However, all through the night, he tried to sleep, but it never came.

The next morning, Otis walked down the stairs with his bag slung over his back.

"Have a nice night?" the front desk woman asked.

"Bitch! You do not run this hotel to my expectations!" he yelled getting right in her face. "Last night, there were kids running around like wild animals through the hotel and throughout the courtyard! Is there some kind of vampire child field trip I should know about before I change my mind about staying here any longer?"

The woman sighed. "I guess I should have told you…this was once the site of an old New Orleans all-boy's school. The school was destroyed in the great fire of New Orleans, 1788 and five boys were said to have perished in the blaze. Your exact claims match the other guests that have stayed here." She said.

"Lady, I have half a mind to check out right now!" Otis yelled. He glanced up at the doorway into the dining room to see a ghostly figure. "General Jackson?" he asked confused as the form disappeared. "Oh yeah, I am definitely out of here…"


	4. Chapter 4

After Otis had checked out of the Andrew Jackson hotel forever, he wandered around trying to find a hotel that wasn't already booked. Finally, he came upon a small inn. There was a small iron sign beside the door. "Outsiders' Inn" was painted in dark red letters over a light blue background. Otis smirked.

"Wow, ironic." He said to himself as he walked inside the musty building. Some big band music was playing on the record player in the corner beside the front desk as two old men played chess by the front window. The front desk manager was reading what looked like porn hidden behind an old Time magazine. Otis walked up to the desk and rang the service bell, but the man didn't look away from his magazine. He licked his thumb and turned the page. Otis frowned and smacked the service bell a few more times until the man slammed shut his magazine on the desk.

"What the hell, do ya want, kid?" he yelled.

"I want a room." Otis said irritated by the man's attitude. Otis looked the man up and down, but didn't see a name tag of any kind.

"I want a room." He replied mockingly. "Ha!" Otis glared at him. "Come back with your mommy and daddy, junior." He said getting back to his magazine. Otis clenched his fists at his side.

"I will ask one last time, you jackass, I…want…a…fucking…room." Otis said slowly. "If you don't, I swear I will raise hell on your ass!" The man put down his magazine still looking the least bit interested.

"And I will tell you one last time, you puny ass wipe, come back with your parents, don't rent out rooms to some snot, nosed, little—" Otis cocked his gun and pointed it right between the man's eyes.

"I asked nicely, but it seems I'm going to have to get a bit more aggressive." Otis said with an evil grin. "I have the money in my pocket to pay for the room and I've got a fully loaded pistol aimed at what you call "your brain." Now, sir. Give me a room." Otis growled. The man looked over at the two old men for help, but somehow they weren't paying attention to what was happening. The man nodded vigorously and grabbed him a key.

"Damn, kid. You're crazy!" The man commented as Otis put his gun back in his bag. Otis laughed as the man pulled out the register.

"You know what's even crazier?" Otis asked as he signed under his new alias, J. Cheever. "That gun's outta bullets." The man laughed and shook his head.

"Know what, kid, you're alright." The man reached out to shake his hand and Otis happily obliged.

"Thanks. You ain't bad yourself, uh…"

"Just call me, Sonny." The man said. "And you are?"

"Cheever, John Cheever." Otis replied. As great and as cool as this guy seemed to be, Otis wasn't sure if he could really trust him just yet.

"Well, Johnny boy, you planning on staying for Mardi Gras, huh?" Sonny asked.

"Yeah, I mean, it sounds kinda fun I guess." Sonny was silent.

"Kinda fun, you guess? Kid do ya even know what goes on during Mardi Gras?" he asked. Otis shook his head.

"A parade, confetti, and costumes?" Otis asked. Sonny waved his hands.

"No, no, no. Not just that! Well, let's just say, ya might want some of these and access to a balcony tonight." Sonny reached into his pocket and pulled out several strands of colored bead necklaces.

"What are these for?" Otis asked looking at the beads.

"Tonight, I'll show ya what there for. I got a balcony from my room. Meet me down here in the lobby around seven and I'll show ya how to have a good time with those beads." Sonny winked as Otis walked up the stairs to his room. He unlocked the door to find that the room wasn't that big. It was maybe 7' by 10' at least, but it was enough room for Otis. He didn't really care. He didn't exactly grow up in the lap of luxury anyway. After setting down his bag on the bed, he locked his door and went downstairs to talk to Sonny. Otis was hoping that if he became close enough to him, Sonny could maybe just let him stay there for a while.

After talking with Sonny for several hours about women and different girls they saw outside the window, Otis had told him his true identity, what he had done, and why he was there in the first place. The entire time Otis told his story, Sonny looked very intrigued. When he finished, Sonny laughed.

"Well, Otis, ya couldn't have picked a better place at a better time to score some serious cash." Sonny glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "People get too caught up in all the excitement. They don't take the time to check if their cash is still safe in their wallets in their back pockets." He winked. "If ya get what I'm sayin'."

"Yeah, I get it. Pickpocket. Why didn't I think of that?" Otis asked to himself out loud. "So, hey, I was thinking. Maybe, you could let me live here? I mean, just for a while until I figure out which way I should go. I could pay rent or maybe I could—"

"Listen kid, I'll hire you to clean rooms and monitor the front desk. The pay check I would give ya, could be your rent." Sonny replied.

"So, I can stay?" Otis asked.

"I suppose so." He replied.

"Yes!"

"Hey, think ya could paint or draw something after the celebration for the lobby?" Sonny asked. "I need something to liven this place up." He said.

"Would you pay me for it?" Otis asked with a smirk.

"Ya little devil…Why not? Twenty bucks sound good to ya?" he asked. Otis shrugged.

"Eh, it's better than nothing." The two laughed at their conversation. Otis almost felt like Sonny should be his father or his older brother. Even if Sonny was larger, had a huge nose and thinning grey hair, Otis could consider him his father.

That night, the streets were filled with people. There was hardly any room to walk as the floats made their way through the streets. Costumed people were prancing along the sidewalks giving away more of those colored beads as music flooded all throughout the city. Otis couldn't keep the smile off his face as he looked around at the spectacle below the balcony. He was standing on the balcony with Sonny with a several dozen strands of bead necklaces.

"Okay, Driftwood. This is the best part of Mardi Gras. Watch and learn." Sonny whistled and pointed to a thin blonde woman. The woman smiled as she lifted her tight pink shirt and showed off her breasts. Otis' jaw dropped. Sonny tossed her a bead necklace. She caught it and put it around her neck along with several others. Otis couldn't believe it. That's all he had to do to see a woman topless?

"See, the thing is, ya got to whistle and point at a woman ya find beautiful and attractive and if she shows ya her titties, ya throw her a necklace." Sonny explained. Otis nodded.

"Alright. Let me give it a try." Otis said searching the crowd for the right girl until finally, I spotted her. She was maybe around 5' 7" with long black hair flowing over her shoulders and her large breasts beneath her tight pale purple t-shirt. He stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a loud whistle, pointing directly at her. She looked right up at him and smiled. He nodded with a big grin on his face. She brushed her hair over her shoulder and lifted up her shirt revealing her illustrious breasts. Otis blushed as he tossed her a green necklace. After she caught the necklace, she blew him a kiss before disappearing into the crowd.

Sonny laughed and patted Otis on the back. "Nice work, kid. Nice work." Sonny wrapped his arm over Otis' shoulder as they continued to enjoy the festivities.

Two years later…Sixteen year old Otis walked into the lobby of the Outsiders' Inn which was nicely furnished and decorated with new furniture and several of Otis' sculptures. He slammed the door behind him as he walked in the room. He huffed to the back room where he found Sonny asleep in a wooden armchair, a porn magazine open face down on his stomach. Otis pulled out a large bag of weed and threw it square in Sonny's face making him suddenly shoot up in his seat.

"What the f-" Sonny started to yell.

"Alright, give me my cut, old man." Otis demanded. Sonny had made Otis into his little messenger boy. He gave Otis the money to go out to buy his pot on the other side of town. For his services, Sonny promised Otis $50 for his deliveries. But it seemed that Sonny refused to pay him for the past four deliveries.

"Cut? Ya want your cut?" He said throwing a knife at Otis' face that he thankfully dodged making the knife get stuck in the wall beside his head. Otis frowned.

"You did not just try to kill me!" Otis said angrily coming towards him. "You owe me two hundred fucking dollars for risking me getting caught by the cops. You didn't forget about our agreement did you?" Otis asked.

"I remember that I said that I'll let ya stay here for free and ya just got to follow orders!" Sonny barked standing up and grabbing Otis by his shirt collar.

"You owe me, you cheap old fart!" Otis yelled trying to pry Sonny's hands off of his shirt.

"I don't owe you anything!" he yelled throwing Otis into the wall. As he was just about to hit the wall, Otis flipped open his knife and threw it managing to slice a chunk off of Sonny's ear. Sonny let out a loud scream holding back the blood pouring out of his ear. Otis yanked his knife out of the wall and quickly stuffed it back into his pocket. He immediately dashed up the stairs and ran into his room. He slammed the door and locked the main lock on the doorknob and the three extra locks he installed himself.

He stood against his door panting and slid down into a sitting position listening to the agonizing sounds of his friend's suffering. After a few moments, his screaming stopped, but Otis didn't move from his position. He figured that he had just killed him. 'Good fucking riddance.' Otis thought. 'All he did was give me a shitty place to hide from the law. Hell, I could've hidden myself. If it wasn't for the titty flashing bitches around this city, I would've left ages ago.'

For the next several hours, Otis closed his eyes and sat there by the door drifting off into his own special world. His own world where the sky was always a soft pale blue without a single cloud floating by. It was a place where the air was clean, and the trees appeared to have just been painted onto the landscape flaunting such colors including whites, pale yellows, and deep violet leaves. As he sat against a tree that branched out over a deep blue, crystal lake, bare breasted women swam in the water and some even came to sit down beside him. Otis couldn't help, but let a weak smile creep on his face.

Suddenly, he heard his name faintly being called over the lake. The sky slowly faded to grey, the trunk of the tree became black and the leaves simultaneously dropped off onto the ground, and the women vanished. His name was called again and again until he was sent back to reality. He was sitting on the hard wood floor once more, and he was merely sitting against his bedroom door.

"Otis!" Sonny called. Otis looked out the window. Already the stars were out and about, glistening on the blackened night sky. Hours had gone by as he was in his world. Otis slowly got to his feet and unlocked the door. As he slowly walked down the stairs, he realized that he hadn't killed Sonny. Deep down, he was grateful he hadn't killed him. He had no way of knowing how to run an inn.

Just then, Otis caught a glimpse of what was going on downstairs before quietly running back into his room and locking the locks. Sonny was downstairs in the lobby talking with several police officers, a bandage wrapped around his injured ear. Otis shook his head and walked over to a pipe in the corner of his room. He had installed the empty pipe to run from the ceiling of the lobby and back into his room. Otis put his ear to the pipe to listen to what was going on.

"So, the boy upstairs did that to you and that's his pot?" one of the officers asked.

"Yeah. He came busting in here with this bag and told me not to say anything." Sonny replied. "I tried calling for help and he slashed my ear nearly clean off!" he explained. Otis balled up his fists. Sonny was ratting him out.

"Did you get his name, sir?" another officer asked. Otis held his breath.

'He wouldn't dare.' Otis thought.

"I heard his name was Otis B. Driftwood." Sonny said.

'Fuck!' Otis screamed to himself.

"He has long blonde hair, blue eyes, and really pale skin. He's like some kind of walking dead or something." Sonny continued.

'Shit, fuck, shit, fuck!' Otis slapped himself. 'He's even giving them my description!'

"Hey, Rodney." One of the officers called. "Doesn't that sound like that boy that we were looking for a few years back? He killed those two back in Tennessee, right?" the officer asked.

"Yeah. That's the kid!" he said. Otis immediately went into a panic and swore at himself as he frantically gathered all his stuff into his bag. He tied up his bag and flung it over his shoulder as he heard them all coming up the stairs towards his room. Otis went to his window and trying pulling it open, but to no avail.

"Shit!" he whispered. "Come on! Come on, dammit!" Suddenly, he managed to pull up the window and hastily make his way out onto the roof. Swiftly and quietly he moved across the roof to the emergency escape ladder. Without a moments' hesitation, he slid down the ladder to the cold stone street and took off as fast as he could and didn't dare look back.

"There he goes!" Otis heard one of the officers yell far behind him. Otis kept running, holding onto the strap of his bag as tight as he could. Suddenly, he heard their sirens blaring. They were without a doubt going to catch him now. He didn't care. He wanted to run as far as he could before they caught him.

As he ran towards one of the bars along the street, a average looking man in a leather jacket came out, to his black and red Indian motorcycle. Otis smiled and darted right at the guy. He was just about to put on his helmet when Otis punched the guy as hard as he could in the gut. The guy held his stomach as he fell over trying to catch his breath. Otis snatched the dark red helmet and snapped it on over his long, flowing blonde hair. As the guy writhed on the ground in pain, Otis took the keys, hopped on the bike, and put the key in the ignition. Otis looked over his shoulder to see the cops getting ever closer. He had to get moving fast. He turned the key making the bike roar to life.

Otis kicked up the kick stand and raced away through the French Quarter. He swerved and took many turns down side streets and rode in between cars, but still couldn't shake the cops off his tail. He made it out onto a busy street when he saw the perfect opportunity. A big eighteen-wheeler came into his line of vision. He chuckled to himself as he sped around the big truck ultimately losing the police in the heavy traffic. As he rode through the speeding cars, the sirens eventually stopped sounding.

"Haha. Driftwood, you are fucking amazing." He praised himself as he continued to follow the road heading west on his new motorcycle. If he remembered correctly after looking at those United States maps so many times, he was heading into another strange and completely unpredictable location, Texas.


	5. Chapter 5

Otis was now very cautious as he rode along the streets of Texas. He wasn't afraid of someone hurting him or mugging him, but he was afraid of the police finding him. He came to the conclusion that he couldn't stop at a local place that night, he had to find some place he could just hide out.

After riding for a few hours, the gas tank was nearly empty. He looked around and noticed a gas station up ahead. Otis let out a sigh of relief as he pulled up.

"Thank the fucking Lord." Otis said to himself as he pulled up to a filling station. He was just about to undo his helmet when he realized there were two people inside the building. There was a lady at the cash register and a young man purchasing a bag of chips. Otis didn't want to be risk being recognized just in case if his arrest had been publicly made throughout the country. Luckily, they still haven't gotten a photo, but how many grown men had long, almost white hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes? Not many.

Once he filled up the tank, he saw that the woman behind the counter was ready to ring him up for the gas. He took a deep breath. If he stole gas with the cops so close, that wouldn't help him at all. He walked inside the building, still not removing his helmet.

"That'll be a nice $4.25, sir." She said in a thick accent. Otis said not a word, but pulled the money from out of his pocket. "Mind takin' off that helmet?" she asked. "Sorry, our policy." She said. Otis sighed, hoping she wouldn't recognize him. Otis took off his helmet and shook out his hair. "Whoa! You got a nice crop of hair, don't ya?" she said, smiling. She didn't seem to think anything of it. "Well, you have yourself a nice night." She said.

Just as he was turning to leave, the man turned and stabbed Otis' left thigh. Otis immediately went down, screaming in agony.

"That's the killer we've been looking for!" the man said taking out a walkie-talkie. "Sir, I found him. We're right outside Houston, several miles from the Ruggsville county line."

'Dammit, a cop.' Otis thought still tightly holding his leg. He pulled out his own knife and stabbed the officer as hard as he could in the foot and through the wood floor. The officer screamed, trying to free himself from the knife. During that time, Otis painfully got to his feet and limped out to the bike, putting the helmet back on as he went. He managed to start the motorcycle and speed off towards what sounded like some hick town by the name of Ruggsville.

It wasn't long before he started having problems steering the bike. The pain in his leg was really starting to throw his concentration. Up ahead, he saw a lit sign that read "Captain Spalding's Museum of Monsters and Madmen. Murderers, Oddities, and Fried Chicken. We got gasoline."

Otis rode on past the sign, hoping that he could stop there and have someone help him for the night. He passed another sign a few seconds later that said, "If you lived here, you'd be home by now!" He shook his head. He wanted to shoot that sign so bad, but there was no time to take out his anger on the sarcastic billboard. He needed to find this museum. If it was called "Captain Spaulding's" it couldn't be that bad. After all, Captain Spaulding was the name of another Groucho Marx character he had come to enjoy.

He finally found the museum, which really looked like nothing more than a falling-apart gas station with a larger building behind it. A creepy, animatronic clown stood beside the door under an eerie green light. Otis tried pulling up beside the building, only to have the bike slide and crash in the dirt. Luckily, the bike fell to the right, not doing any extra damage to Otis' bleeding left leg. Otis stood up, panting and hissing in pain as he made his way for the door. He looked out to the street and heard the faint sound of the sirens getting ever closer.

Otis came to the door and, with all his might, pushed it open with his shoulder, completely collapsing onto the hard linoleum floor.

"Whoa!" A gruff voice said from behind the wooden counter. Otis rolled onto his back, trying to sit up. "Hey, kid. What in the hell happened to you?" the voice said. Otis looked at the source of the voice. It was a man dressed as a clown. Otis opened his mouth to reply, but instead, he grabbed his leg and hissed in pain. "Ooh, shit!" the clown yelled, noticing the wound.

"Don't…let them find me." Otis gasped as the clown helped him to his feet.

"Them?" he asked. The sirens grew loud as they approached the building. "Oh!" he said, setting Otis in the large cabinet under the counter. "You should be able to find bandage wraps and stuff for that leg under there. I'll take care of these asshole pig fuckers and you can tell me the story later. Just stay quiet." The clown said as he slid shut one of the doors of the cabinet.

Suddenly, the bell over the door jingled as three police officers walked into the building. Otis tried keeping his breathing normal as he began to give himself first aid.

"May I help you gentlemen?" the clown asked. "If you're here for the chicken, I'm sorry to say that you're outta luck. I just ran out."

"Cut the crap, Spaulding." A balding officer with a thick mustache by the name of Wydell snapped.

'Spaulding?' Otis thought. That must be the man in the clown costume, Captain Spaulding. That was just the guy Otis was hoping he was.

"We're looking for a kid. Goes by the name of Otis B. Driftwood or J. Cheever."

'Shit, they figured out that, too.' Otis thought.

"We saw his stolen bike alongside your…building. Did he come in here?" Wydell asked. Otis shut his eyes tight, preparing for the officer to come around and blow his brains out.

"Oh, who? That nut?" Captain Spaulding asked. "Kid came running through here pointing a gun at my head demanding bandages. Crazy kid was bleeding like pig. So, I gave him the bandages and he ran outta here best he could. I'm figuring he tried making his way through the woods behind here." Spaulding explained.

Otis smiled. He had a feeling he could trust this guy.

"You sure?" Wydell asked.

"You think I'd forget an albino motherfucker holdin a gun between my eyes?" Spaulding asked. Otis tried not to crack up laughing. This guy was good. He was really good. Wydell cocked his eyebrow at Spaulding and nodded.

"Alright, men. Let's check the woods and get back on the road." Wydell said to the other two officers. "He's obviously not here, but he couldn't have gotten far." The officers began to walk out the door. "Sorry for disturbing you, Spaulding." Wydell said as he walked out. Once the door was shut and the police car out of sight completely, Captain Spaulding slid open the cabinet door. Otis looked up at him, a big grin on his face.

"Now get out here, kid. I wanna talk to you." Spaulding demanded. Otis winced as he carefully climbed out from under the counter. "Pull up a seat." Spaulding said pulling up two chairs. Otis sat down, still holding his leg. "Now," Spaulding started pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping away the clown make-up. "Who are you and what the fuck was that all about?" he asked.

"First, I gotta say, that was incredible, Captain Spaulding." Otis complimented.

"Ass kissin later, kid. Tell me what's happenin." Spaulding said.

"Well, as you heard, my name is Otis B. Driftwood." He began. From there, he told him about his parents, Marge, his experience in New Orleans and getting stabbed at the gas station.

"Well, shit." Captain Spaulding said after Otis finished. "I feel bad for you, boy. Those damn cops. They should just leave kids like you alone. Believe me, as far as I can tell, you ain't done nothin wrong." He said, standing up to put on a white and red trucker hat. Otis looked around the room at the newspaper clippings of headlines and stories of murder accounts and strange phenomenon. He noticed in the corner the head of bat on the body of a man with wings on the side of his head.

"Uh, no offense, Spaulding, but I think you can do better than this." Otis commented.

"Forgive me, I just put this place together about a year ago. I'm actually putting together a murder ride, a tour givin' folks information on famous killers. But this main room, yeah. I'll admit, it needs some work. I need creatures, you know, like, uh part bat part man beast or uh, mermaid or something in here. For now, I've got…Jonesy over there." Spaulding said sneering at the bat creature. "I ain't no artist. I know that."

"Hey, maybe, I could help you make the monsters. I'm pretty good with sculptures and paint and stuff." Otis said, standing up pulling out some of his paintings from his bag. Spaulding's eyes went wide at the sight of the picture collection.

"Well," he said, chuckling, "fuck my momma sideways! You got real talent there, son!" Spaulding smiled, admiring Otis' masterpieces. "I'll fuckin' hire you to make me my monsters, how's that sound?" he asked.

"That'd be great." Otis said, putting his pictures away in his bag.

"Here, why don't you come home with me?" Spaulding asked.

"Seeing as I have nowhere else to go?" Otis replied. Spaulding laughed as he grabbed a pair of car keys.

"Alright, come on, kid." Spaulding said as he led Otis to his little red Thunderbird. Spaulding ran back to the door and locked up before running back into the car. He plugged the key into the ignition, starting up the car and heading down the road back to Spaulding's place.

After about fifteen to twenty minutes, the car slowed to a stop outside an old farm house. Both men climbed out of the car and made their way to the porch stairs. Otis examined the house, which was covered in all sorts of dead birds and other dead animals. It was just enough to make you sick. Spaulding helped Otis walk up the rickety stairs to the front door, which had the most beautiful stained glass design set into it. Spaulding fumbled with his keys as he kept a hold of Otis, making sure he didn't fall over.

Finally, he pulled out a little silver key and slipped it into the keyhole. He turned it and popped open the door, allowing their entrance. Spaulding walked in and helped Otis over to the couch.

"Well, it's about time you got home, Cutter!" A lady's voice yelled, coming into the dimly lit room. Following her was a tall kid with a few strands of brown hair carrying what looked like a teddy bear. "You have any idea what time it is?" Otis turned around and noticed that the woman was about eight months pregnant.

"Well, thanks for your concern!" Spaulding yelled back. "I actually brought-" Just then, a little boy around maybe fourteen walked down the stairs into the room, brushing the dark wavy locks out of his face to rub his eyes.

"What's all the yellin' for?" The boy asked.

"Great, Cutter! Now you've gone and woken up RJ!" she yelled. All at once, both the woman and Captain Spaulding were screaming at each other. Otis rolled his eyes and stood up off the couch as best he could. Otis cleared his throat. Both adults stopped bickering and looked at him.

"Uh…hi there." Otis said plainly. The woman's angry expression melted into a warm smile as she walked over to him.

"Hi there." She said with a toothy grin. "And who might you be?" she asked.

"Uh, Otis, Otis B. Driftwood, ma'am." He replied, holding out his hand.

"Well, it's a pleasure-" the woman stopped smiling and whipped around to Spaulding. "He's not a hostage is he?" she asked. Spaulding shook his head. "Well, it certainly is a pleasure to meet you, Otis. My name is Eve Wilson." She said, shaking Otis' hand.

"Hey, by the way, kid." Spaulding spoke up. "Otis B. Driftwood. I see you like the Marx Brothers, huh?" he chuckled. "I like them myself if you haven't noticed already." Otis smiled.

"Yeah, I got that." He replied. Eve gasped as she noticed his bloodied jeans.

"Oh my, now, Otis, you just lay down here while I get my sewing kit and some ice. I'll fix that leg of yours in a jiffy." She said, helping him settle down on the couch. The tall boy and the dark haired boy came into the same room and sat down on the carpet as Spaulding got a fire going in the fireplace.

"So, Otis, these are Eve's kids." Spaulding said. "That one there is the oldest, Rufus Junior, RJ." He pointed.

"Hey." RJ said.

"And that one there is her pride and joy, Tiny." He said, pointing to the other boy. Tiny looked up and smiled a rather stupid looking smile. "Tiny's uh…a special boy." Spaulding said.

"Oh." Otis replied as Tiny continued to smile at him. Just then, Eve walked back in the room with some ice and a needle and thread.

"Boys, I want you two to get back into bed. You can play with Otis tomorrow." Eve said, giving her sons a hug.

"G'night, Mama." RJ said as he climbed back up the stairs.

"Night night." Tiny managed to say as he carefully went down stairs to his basement room. Eve removed Otis' bandages and iced the wound until Otis couldn't feel a thing any longer. She threaded the needle and began sewing up the cut gently.

"So, uh, Eve, how old is Tiny?" he asked.

"He's only ten years old." She replied.

"He's nearly six feet tall and he's only ten?" Otis asked in shock.

"That's right." She said, smiling. "Mama's special little boy."

"So, you just live here with Spaulding, RJ, and Tiny?" he asked. Spaulding took a seat in the arm chair on the other side of the room.

"Oh, no. My daddy also lives with us. We just call him 'Grandpa' though." She said as she continued stitching. "So, tell me about yourself, Otis." Otis sighed, as he was getting so sick and tired of telling everyone his life story up to this point. When he finally finished, she was finishing the knot of the thread.

"You poor thing. You mean, you don't have a home?" she asked.

"I guess you could say that." Otis replied, checking out his stitches.

"Aw. You poor dear. You must stay here with us, then." She suggested. "I couldn't just let you wander this big empty world on the run from the law, you could get killed!"

"No, really, I'll be fine. I've gotten this far." Otis defended. He just needed a place for the night. He wasn't really looking for a permanent location, as nice as these people seemed to be.

"Nonsense!" she yelled. "I don't want you running off on some big motorcycle getting knives stabbed in you and cops shooting you full of bullets." She argued. Otis sighed. He decided to just take off in the morning before anyone woke up.

"Alright." Otis shook his head. "I'll stay for a little while, but I ain't gonna be living here!" he said. Eve smiled and nodded.

"Well, I'm glad that's settled." She said. "Now, the only room available is the attic room, I think. We got a spare bed up there."

"Thanks." Otis said, starting to climb up the stairs. "And, Spaulding, thanks for saving my ass earlier."

"My pleasure, kid." He replied.

Otis walked up the stairs and found the set that led to the attic. He went up, expecting to see a collection of sewing mannequins, old dusty trunks, a mirror, and a bunch of rats. Instead, it was almost completely empty, except for the antlers over the doorway into a small closet and an iron bed frame with a mattress, a dirty pillow and ratty blanket. 'It'll do for tonight.' Otis thought as he set down his bag and kicked off his boots. He laid down on the creaky bed and covered himself with the blanket. Although it was already mid November, it was surprisingly warm in the attic.

Otis shook his head. 'No way in hell am I living here.' He thought. Before he closed his eyes, he saw a long table in the corner covered with large cans of paints and brushes. He glanced around the room once more, realizing that the walls were all completely white except for several parts of the walls that were decorated with some doodles in marker. "I'll…think about it." Otis said to himself as he drifted off to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Early the next morning, Otis was awoken by a beam of sunlight coming through a crack in the dirty window of the attic. Otis kept his eyes shut tight and groaned. His leg was really sore from the knife wound and he couldn't seem to get comfortable. Nonetheless, he threw the thin sheet from off of him and shook his head. He slipped his feet into his boots, tied up the laces and went downstairs, where he was greeted by the smell of sizzling bacon.

Otis made it down to the last step and rubbed at one of his eyes. It sounded like the whole family was in the kitchen. Otis stood in the doorway of the kitchen and forced his eyes open, despite the bright light shining into the room. Tiny was singing some weird song he had made up as he was munching on a bowl of cereal, RJ was eating some pancakes while he read the comics section of the newspaper, Eve was just scooping out some more bacon out of the pan onto a plate, and Spaulding was kicking back reading the newspaper with a fresh cup of coffee.

Otis smiled. This is what he had always wished his mornings at home would look like. Eve looked up and gave him a smile.

"Otis, come on in." she said, motioning him over. Otis walked in and sat down in an available seat at the long wood table. "Can I get you something to eat, Otis?" she offered sweetly.

"Food, please." Otis said, grinning. Eve laughed.

"Food is pretty general." She said. "We've got bacon, pancakes, some coffee, a little bit of toast..."

"I guess I'll have one of everything." Otis replied.

"One of everything. I can see why you'd say that." She said as she fixed him a big plate of food. "From that teeny body of yours, you must be absolutely starving." Otis nodded. She set the plate in front of him and he automatically raced through every scrap that was put on his plate.

"Wow." Tiny said, wide-eyed.

"You know, Otis…" Eve started.

"Yeah?" Otis replied, licking what was left on his plate.

"You can eat like this almost all the time…you know, if you decide to live here with us…I could always use another helping hand around the house." She said. Otis looked around at the anticipating faces around the table. Otis swallowed what he had in his mouth and smiled.

"Well then…" he started, standing up. "Can I call you Mama?" he asked. Eve came over to him and wrapped her arms around him.

"Of course, Otis." She said. "Boys, say hello to your new big brother, Otis."

"Otis is our brother now?" RJ asked. Eve nodded. Both Tiny and RJ jumped up out of their chairs and hugged Otis. "I've always wanted a big brother." RJ said.

"Brother." Tiny said happily, squeezing him.

"Yeah, Tiny…" Otis managed to gasp out. "…we're brothers…I can't breathe." Tiny just smiled and let him go. "You know, I may need some help making my room look nicer." Otis said, looking at the two boys. "Want to help me paint and color on the walls?" he asked. The boys nodded excitedly and ran up the stairs to the attic. Eve and Captain Spaulding chuckled.

Otis turned and smiled at his new parents. "So does this mean I'm a Firefly now?" he asked. Captain Spaulding slapped his knee, understanding Otis' reference to the Marx Brothers.

"Those Marx…You callin' us the Fireflies?" Spaulding asked, still laughing at Otis' Marx Brothers joke. Otis nodded. "I guess it does mean you're a Firefly…Unofficially of course…an honorary family member." Otis laughed and ran up to his room to decorate with his younger brothers.


	7. Chapter 7

Around seven pm, the attic room was completely covered in all sorts of designs and doodles of just about anything you could imagine; lions, tigers, clowns, horses, bears, elephants, and many other types of animals. Otis even got to painting the ceiling, but accidentally ended up dripping red and blue paint all over Tiny. Otis laughed when Tiny held out his hand and looked up and around as if he was looking to see if it was miraculously raining inside. Even RJ got a small chuckle out of his little brother's confusion.

Overall, the room looked great and the three boys were quite proud of themselves for their hard work…especially Otis who had decided to tack up his paintings from his backpack. However, once RJ and Tiny saw him do that, the two rushed downstairs and brought up their own artwork from the fridge to be tacked up as well. Finally, Otis got the last of the pictures put up along the walls.

"What do you think, guys?" he asked. RJ got a smile on his face.

"It looks wonderful." He replied with only slight enthusiasm in his voice. Tiny on the other hand was jumping up and down excitedly.

"Pretty! Pretty paint-ins'!" He said.

Later, they showed the room to Captain Spaulding and Eve, whom Otis now took to calling Mama Firefly. They too, were very impressed with the boys work.

"Oh, Otis." Mama Firefly said. "This room is just absolutely delightful!" she complimented. Otis shrugged.

"I can't take all the credit. RJ and Tiny did a lot, too." Otis included.

"Yeah. It's really great what you boys've done up here!" Spaulding said, putting a hand on Otis' shoulder. "Hey, that reminds me, I got a little story to tell you after dinner." Spaulding added, bringing everyone downstairs. As everyone got settled in their seats at the table, Grandpa Hugo came into the room and took a seat. At first he glared at Otis for a good two minutes before shouting.

"Who the fuck is this asshole sittin' at the table?" Otis glared at the old man for his remark. Mama Firefly shook her finger at her father.

"Grandpa! Language at the table, please!" she yelled. "This is Otis B. Driftwood. He's going to be living with us." She said with a cheery smile.

"I thought you was saving him as chum for that stupid asshole museum down the road." Grandpa said, stabbing his fork into the meatloaf on his plate. Spaulding slammed his hand on the table.

"Dammit, Hugo! I am not cuttin' him up and puttin' him on display!" Spaulding yelled. RJ mimicked Spaulding by slamming down his hand on the table, too.

"Yeah, dammit, Hugo!" RJ yelled.

"RJ." Mama Firefly said sternly.

"Dammit!" Tiny yelled slamming his hand down.

"Tiny!" his mother yelled. Otis and Spaulding starting laughing.

"Cutter! I don't want you to encourage that language on my boys! Especially Tiny!" Mama Firefly said. It was obvious she was starting to get irritated with her family. Spaulding threw his hands up in surrender. Otis muffled his laughter and bit his lip. He was definitely being entertained by this scene at the dinner table.

After they had finished eating, Captain Spaulding gathered everyone into the living room to tell his story.

"Now, this story I'm 'bout to tell is about our very own…Dr. Satan." He said in a spooky voice. Mama Firefly giggled. This story obviously didn't startle her at all. So, Spaulding began.

"His name was Dr. Quail. He was an intern at Willow's County Mental Hospital which was soon nicknamed Weeping Willows for the never ending cries of pain he got out of his patients." RJ's eyes widened and Tiny clutched at the hemming of his baggy burgundy shirt.

"From his performin' of primitive brain surgeries, Dr. Quail believed that he could create a race of super humans out of the mentally ill. Eventually, justice prevailed and the townsfolk took him out and hung him for his supposedly 'illogical' operations on the patients. That infamous hangin' tree is not that far from where y'all are seated right now. They say…that his body was said to be missin'. And no trace of Dr. Satan has ever been found…at least…that's what I tell other folks."

Otis gulped. This crazy murderer was out there and somehow they found this all hysterical, but then again, it was all just a legend, right?

"See, the thing is," Spaulding continued, "Dr. Satan is alive and well. In fact, he lives underground out by that old oil well. Every Halloween Eve, we all go out and wait to see if we can catch a glimpse of the old Doctor…not yet have any of us seen him, but I'm sure…he's caught a glimpse of us waitin' for him."

Otis scoffed. Spaulding looked straight at him. "Which brings me to the point of tellin' you the story, Otis. As a new family member, you will now take part in our little 'game' we've got running."

"You're serious?" Otis asked. This family seems to make this local legend more into like a Santa Claus experience for the kids. He scoffed, "Whatever, thanks. I guess I'll join you on your… 'little steakouts'."

"Well, if it's all the same to you gentlemen, I'm headin' off to bed. So are you, Tiny, RJ." She said. The boys groaned and marched off to bed. Grandpa Hugo left, too leaving Captain Spaulding and Otis all alone.

"Otis," Spaulding said. "Got a dare for ya." He said. Otis grinned.

"Yeah?"

"Dare ya to go down into the well and see if you can find the old man himself."

Otis scoffed. "I ain't afraid. I'll do it. Take me to the well and I'll shake hands with the old coot." He declared. And with that, Spaulding took Otis all the way out into the middle of nowhere where an old oil well was stationed. He lowered down a rope into the well.

"Good luck, Otis." Spaulding said with a smirk. Otis nodded and climbed down carefully, landing in mud that came up to his knees. It was musty and so dark Otis could barely make out a hand held up in front of his face. Otis slowly made his way down a long dirty corridor aligned with a mass of human skeletons, but he continued walking down deeper and deeper into the well.

As he walked further and further into the darkness, his boots, now completely caked with mud, made soft squishy noises as he slowly moved one foot after another. He had to admit that the atmosphere was making him a little nervous. It was absolutely silent in the corridor. No sounds of water dripping, no sounds of rats scurrying about along the ground or along the roots of the trees above. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his footsteps and the sound of his own breathing.

Finally, he approached a pair of large, metal doors. He looked them up and down and with all his might, shoved the two doors open. The room that he had now entered was lit with a bright red light and above his head hung a chandelier crafted out of human bones and skulls that looked like something out of a horror film. Otis was now convinced that this had to be some kind of twisted dream and that he was fast asleep in his bed in the attic.

Suddenly, a large man wearing a big black helmet growled and pulled out a huge axe. Otis took a step back and searched for his knife only to remember he no longer had it after stabbing that cop in the foot at the gas station. He put up his fists instead. He knew that he had no chance of being able to fight off this juggernaut. The large man raised his axe, ready to slice the defenseless, teenage boy in half.

All of a sudden, there was a moan from the other side of the room. There was a scrawny old man whose pale white arms were held up by metal and wires that hung from the ceiling.

"Rufus…put down…your weapon." He said in a breathy, raspy voice. The large man put down his axe and walked away. Otis didn't drop his fists as the old man motioned him over. Otis cautiously walked over to the man.

"Are you…Dr. Satan?" Otis asked. The old man nodded.

"I am…Otis…Driftwood." Dr. Satan replied.

"How did you know my name?" he asked lowering his fists. Dr. Satan kept a straight, emotionless face as he responded.

"I saw you…in a dream." He said grabbing a hold of Otis' right arm. He turned it over and saw a red mark on the boy's arm. Otis was scrambling to get his arm free once Dr. Satan grinned. "It's…about time." He said releasing Otis' arm. Otis shuffled back.

"What are you talking about?" Otis said.

"You…are the one…who bares…my mark." Dr. Satan replied. Otis was very confused as to what he meant by that.

"Your mark?" he asked shaking his head. "What the fu-"

"You've…come home…my son." Dr. Satan stated. Otis' eyes shot open wide in utter shock. He was…Dr. Satan's son?


	8. Chapter 8

Otis couldn't believe what he had just heard. In fact, he didn't believe a word of it. This crazy, ancient old man hooked up on wires was his father. He always had a feeling that those two people he lived with before, Thomas and Sissy, weren't his real parents, but it still didn't seem to make much sense. Sure, Otis was born out there in the heart of Texas, but when he wasn't even a year old, his parents moved all the way out to Delaware. Otis knew that much of his parents' story, but they never explained why they went so far away from this place.

"How are you my father?" Otis asked. Dr. Satan picked up an oxygen mask sitting by a couple of tanks and put it up to his mouth. He inhaled deeply and exhaled putting the mask back down.

"Many years ago…your mother and father lived not too far from the Firefly farm house down the road."

Otis was getting a little more unnerved hearing that somehow Dr. Satan knew the new name he had given to the family. Dr. Satan continued his tale.

"A happy new couple, they were…until one day, your father, Thomas Robinson… journeyed through this oil well. He was twisting and turning down the long narrow passageways…in the murky depths until he came to a dead end. That was when Rufus got him…and brought him back for me. I did my usual experimentation…but this time…I injected myself into his bloodstream. The next child he would conceive…would be rightfully my own…and would bare my mark."

"How…how did you do that?" Otis asked not quite sure how that was logically possible. Dr. Satan pointed to a book shelf on the other side of the room.

"You may…read my log books. They are full of…detailed experimentation processes…that I have attempted. Most, I have found successful." Dr. Satan gave a bit of a smile pointing at Otis as an example. The timid teen took the dusty old book off of the shelf and carefully cracked it open.

"Anyway…your mother, Narissa Cartright, came down and found Thomas bleeding from the abdomin and of course…from the head. Lucky for them…they managed to escape…and get back to the house. That's where they stayed…until you were born. I sent Rufus to retrieve my son…but he needed to use force…they were unwilling to give you up…it's uncomforting to know…how much they took you for granted."

"You have no idea." Otis replied.

"After they left…I tried again." Dr. Satan said. Otis looked over. "Ezra…his name was…he looks rather similar to you, your brother. The only real difference being his dark hair. Well…now you know the truth." Dr. Satan concluded.

Otis quickly tucked the book into his jacket.

"But how have you been alive all this time?" Otis asked.

"Satanists." He quickly replied. "Ironic, but befitting. Once I was hanged and pronounced dead…a satanic cult…my followers, I suppose…brought me back from the dead…all of them are gone now…I've been hanging on…hoping for a son to help keep me alive. That's where you come in…Otis Driftwood."

"What do you need my to do…father?" Otis asked. He only felt slightly uncomfortable calling him that, but Otis felt like Dr. Satan deserved that bit of respect. Dr. Satan smiled.

"I need yearly sacrifices…test subjects. I want you and your…family to lure people out here…and get them into the well. Rufus will do the rest. Don't worry…if one of the Fireflies end up in his way…he will bring no harm to them."

Suddenly, it clicked. Rufus, Rufus Jr.

"Wait a minute. Is Rufus…RJ's father?" Otis asked in disbelief.

"Yes…and Tiny's father. Eve Wilson…nice woman. That reminds me…your first mission. I have my eye on a certain test subject."

"Who?" Otis asked. "Anyone. You name 'em!" Otis replied ready to do his father's bidding.

"I want you to bring me…Cutter…Captain Spaulding." Dr. Satan said with a sinister smile. That smile was absolutely horrifying as stands of skin were connected the top and bottom of his lips. Otis was shocked. He didn't even think of betraying Captain Spaulding, not after all that he's done for him. Otis opened his mouth to protest against doing it, but Dr. Satan interrupted.

"Oh, you don't have to do this deed right away…Let him see his beautiful baby once it has been born. You then have three years after the birth to bring him to me." Dr. Satan explained.

"Why three years?" Otis asked.

"I have that much time left before I need a new subject. I don't want Cutter to lead my new group of followers. It seems only right that…my son shall lead them and care for them." He said. "And I want Captain Spaulding out of the picture."


	9. Chapter 9

Later that evening, Dr. Satan let his son go back to the house and contemplate everything that he had just been told. Otis was ordered to sacrifice Captain Spaulding, the man who saved his ass from the cops. He was the man who took him in as his own and helped him get back on his feet. Otis figured that three years, although it seems like a long time, those years were going to go by really fast. He didn't have a whole lot of time on his side, but maybe during those three years Captain Spaulding will do something to make Otis change his mind about handing him over to be a test subject.

Otis simply watched his feet kick up the dirt as it swirled into the air. Although he walked back in the darkness of the night, the moon served as a flashlight, guiding him home. Finally, he reached the creaky old house where Captain Spaulding was sitting in one of the worn chairs on the porch waiting for him.

"You find him?" Spaulding asked as Otis walked up the rickety wood steps onto the porch. Otis smiled at him, but said nothing as he pushed open the front door.

"Aw, come on, now." Spaulding persisted. "There's somethin' you ain't tellin' me, huh?" he asked. Otis simply shrugged and smirked. "Alright, fine. You want to be an asshole then. Fine with me." Otis laughed as he walked up the stairs to his room.

"G'night, Spaulding." Otis said.

"G'night, Otis." He replied. Spaulding cared about him, that was obvious. It was just going to be a bitch on his conscience when Otis had to turn him over to Dr. Satan.


End file.
